


A Storm In A Teacup

by TheWildChilde



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M, Hawke (Dragon Age) Has a Twin, M/M, Named Hawke (Dragon Age)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-22
Updated: 2020-07-22
Packaged: 2021-03-04 20:41:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25442563
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheWildChilde/pseuds/TheWildChilde
Summary: Coming face to face with him after Haven, both of them drained and tired, and the first thing she noticed was his eyes.Those are my eyes.---Tempest Trevelyan convinces Hawke to stay for a while before he heads to Weisshaupt and the two heroes bond over the weight on their shoulders, though Tempest can't shake the feeling that she's met him before.
Relationships: Cullen Rutherford/Female Trevelyan, Female Inquisitor/Cullen Rutherford, Fenris/Male Hawke
Kudos: 27





	A Storm In A Teacup

After Adamant, in the eerie quiet of Skyhold’s night, Tempest Trevelyan lays awake. Cullen sleeps beside her, though she can feel him shift and twitch, dreaming of the darkness they only barely escaped. He stirs as she slips from the bed and she reaches out, fingers brushing blonde curls from his face as she hushes him gently and he settles once more.

“I’ll be back soon, my love,” she says quietly, pulling his furred cloak around her shoulders, stepping into her boots and slipping out onto the ramparts.

A chill wind blows her fiery hair free, wild tresses spilling around her face and reaching for the star filled sky. The sound of her boots on the stone is carried away by the wind and she steps up to the edge, eyes scanning the horizon of snow peaked mountains.

“Even in the summer the frost clings to these mountains…” she muses.

“Missing the Free Marches?” The voice, deep and warm, startles her and she whips around, frost on her fingers. Hawke holds his hands up placatingly, a small smile on his lips. He looks tired.

“Maker’s breath, I nearly froze you to the spot,” she laughs, the magic dying in her palm. Hawke chuckles and comes to stand beside her—leaning on the stone and looking up at the sky—as she relaxes and mimics his stance.

They share the silence and watch the stars in relative calm; a moment of quiet after a ranging storm. Their trip through the Fade lingers in her waking moments, and she can see the way it weighs on Hawke too.

“I’m thinking of heading to Weisshaupt.”

She looks at him and in the dark she can make out his eyes—the same vivid teal as her own.

“Why?” She wants him to stay, a friendly face, someone who’s fought battles like this before, who knows what it is to have so many who depend on you. Even with her inner circle, it’s different with Hawke, he gets it.

“I…I have people, Grey Wardens, I care about. I didn’t see them. I need to know they’re okay.” His eyes drift away, back up to the endless sea of lights above them.

“Oh, that makes sense,” she says quietly. The cold starts to creep into her bones and she brings her hands up, blowing in them and creating a little ball of fire that she cradles close, careful not to singe Cullen’s cloak. After a moment Hawke shuffles a bit closer and she offers the fire to him, letting him warm his hands as she laughs. “Magic has its uses.”

“Hah, no kidding,” he says with a grin, though it fades quickly to something more contemplative. “Can I ask you something, Inquisitor?”

“Please, just call me Tempest. I’m worried I’ll forget my name if someone doesn’t.”

“What? Is Cullen calling you Inquisitor all the time?”

Her cheeks burn and the fire stutters out as she gapes at Hawke and his smug face. Lost for words she simply punches him in the arm. Hard.

“Ow! Guess I deserved that. Right, Tempest. Can I ask you something?”

“You may,” she giggles.

“Where did you live before you went to the Circle?”

Silence falls. She can’t look at him, instead focusing on bringing the fire back to life in her hands. He rubs the back of his neck and shuffles, though she’s unsure if his discomfort is from the cold or the silence. She takes a deep breath.

“I don’t remember much. I was very little when I went to Ostwick, only six or seven, but I remember being very frightened. I didn’t understand what I’d done wrong when the Templars came…” Tempest shivers slightly.

“I’m sorry,” Hawke says, touching her shoulder gently.

“No, it’s okay. Ostwick was not as bad as some circles. I was made a ward of a local noble family, they eventually adopted me as their daughter, and I lived well.”

“But you weren’t free.” Hawke bites the inside of his cheek. He glances at her and she’s lost in thought, gazing into the flames at her fingertips.

“No…I wasn’t, and I lost parts of myself in the Circle…” She sighs and smiles up at Hawke. “The Templars called me a ‘storm in a teacup’, dangerously volatile, they wanted to make me Tranquil before I was even 13. I wasn’t. Just angry and scared. The older mages, they called me Tempest and they took the time to help me adjust…kept the Templars off my back. The war…it wasn’t good, but it was better than remaining in Ostwick…”

“So, Tempest isn’t your real name?”

“It is, in the way that I don’t really remember my name before that. One of the older mages said it probably hurt too much to remember, so I made myself forget.”

Hawke huffs a little laughter. “Reminds me of someone I knew…”

Tempest gives him a questioning look and he simply shrugs. They remain in silence, simple and contemplative, until she realises she can’t feel her nose anymore.

“Stay a month, Hawke. Rest and recuperate. Then travel with the Wardens when they leave.” The fire in her hands dies out. Hawke nods.

“Yeah, that sounds like a plan. I’m sure the healers will appreciate your insistence, one of them has been fussing over me like I’m dying.”

She laughs as she pulls Cullen’s cloak around her tighter, shivering. His scent washes over her and she smiles softly. Hawke’s smirk isn’t lost on her.

“What?”

“No, it’s good, it’s cute. Cullen was…a very different man when I knew him. This Inquisition seems to have been good for him. Glad you two found each other.”

The door to Cullen’s office opens and the two heroes look across the ramparts. The blonde stands in the doorway and even from here Tempest can see him shiver.

“I think I’m being summoned,” she chuckles. “Thank you, Hawke. Be safe, rest well.”

Hawke gives her a wink and turns back to the night sky as she trots over to Cullen. The Commander pulls her inside and wraps her up in his arms.

“What were you doing out there? You’re frozen solid.” She can hear the anxiety in his voice and wants to defend herself.

_I’m not a child._

_I’m fine._

_Stop worrying._

_You’re going to go grey before you’re 35._

But she doesn’t, knowing his fear when she fell into the rift. He won’t speak of it, but she can sense it, sees it in the way his eyes follow her, feel it in the way he holds her just a little tighter.

Instead she simply holds him closer and kisses his jaw.

“I had your cloak to protect me,” she says against his skin. His arms tighten around her and he whispers, so quiet she barely hears him.

_“I thought I lost you again.”_

They crawl back into bed and hold each other as the warmth seeps back into her bones and, in that moment, she realises that Hawke is alone, despite everything and all the tales of his companions, he came to Skyhold alone.

Tempest knows that one day she too will find herself alone and she clings to Cullen all the more, hoping beyond hope that even if everyone else leaves she might still be blessed with this love.

Sleep finds her, but peace evades her.

+++

_There’s light dancing on her fingertips, purple electricity jumping between each tiny finger. A boy beside her shouts in delight, his teal eyes alight with joy._

_“Like Papa can do,” he shouts. He’s so loud, so full of energy, as bright as the blue sky above them._

_She hears her own laughter and the electricity sparks._

_Behind them a woman gasps, and they turn to see her, flanked by two Templars in imposing armour. The sky turns grey._

_The Templars each take one of her arms and escort her away. She screams and lightning strikes the ground before her. The boy, held back by the woman, breaks free and races forward as she’s loaded into a wagon. She cries and reaches for him and he presses something cold into her hand._

_He’s saying something, but her emotions are roaring in her ears and all she can hear is her own sobs._

_Blood drips through her fingers._

Tempest wakes with a start, face wet with tears, as the sun peaks over the horizon.

+++

“Hey Varric, you know anyone in Ostwick?”

“Morning to you too, Hawke.” The dwarf doesn’t even look up from his writing, but he’s smiling as Hawke drops into the seat beside him.

“Yeah all that,” Hawke laughs. “But do you?”

Varric leans back in his seat and gives Hawke a curious look. “I do, but you’ve gotta tell me why, Hawke. They’re not a friendly sort.”

“It’s a present of sorts, for Tempest,” Hawke hums. The suspicion on Varric’s face deepens and Hawke chuckles. “I want to help her with her past, help her find out where she came from.”

“Oh really? Now why would you want to know that?”

“Aw come on now Varric, man’s gotta have his secrets.” His cheesy grin seems to be enough for Varric, for the moment, and they fall into companionable silence.

Hawke smiles, watching Tempest laugh and joke with her friends, remembering nights at The Hanged Man, playing Wicked Grace in his parlour until the sun rose. His heart aches for those times, to bring his friends together again, with no hate or fear in their eyes, to just enjoy their company and forget their faces as they each parted ways after what happened.

“You pick that face up from Broody? All that time together and you’re starting to look like each other.” Varric’s voice stirs the Champion from his thoughts.

“Just reminiscing,” Hawke chuckles.

+++

Much to Tempest’s relief, Hawke stays. He helps Cullen train troops, observes her with the younger mages, makes friends with anyone he speaks to for more than a moment, save for Vivienne who finds him boorish.

Between him and Varric the tales from Kirkwall get more and more extravagant and unbelievable. Tempest is very sure she would’ve heard about a talking dragon roaming the Free Marches, or vicious killer nugs as big as mabari.

Three weeks after Adamant, Hawke and the Wardens begin to pack up their things in preparation for the long trek to the Anderfells. They’ll leave at the end of the week and it puts Tempest in a foul mood. She tries her best to put on a smile as she races about Skyhold, but Krem catches her out and calls her grouchy, which only serves to turn her frown into a glower that leaves the mercenary drinking deeply to avoid eye contact.

As each day draws to a close, Tempest and Hawke meet on the ramparts and simply chat. He clears up some of the more extravagant lies in Varric’s Tale of The Champion and she tells him more about life in the Circle.

“Hawke…” Tempest hops up onto the edge of the rampart, an act she knows makes Cassandra have kittens.

Hawke is sitting with his back against the stone, eyes closed as he tries to absorb the last of the setting suns warmth. He hums in acknowledgement.

It feels silly, but the question has been lingering in her mind since she first met the Champion. Coming face to face with him after Haven, both of them drained and tired, and the first thing she noticed was his eyes.

_Those are my eyes._

It only stood out because of how Lady Trevelyan had cooed over her striking eyes.

Tempest had put it to the back of her mind until Varric had commented in passing about how similar they looked. She had scoffed at the time, but the idea had settled in her thoughts.

“Tempest?” His voice stirs her, and she shakes her head clear.

“I have a personal question, please feel free not to answer, but…what was your family like?” She asks the question to her knees, only daring to look at him once the question is out in the open; his eyes are still closed. They don’t speak much of their families, preferring to talk of their friends and adventures rather than delve into the aches and pains around family.

“Before my father died, before the Blight, we lived in Lothering. We moved a lot, to keep him and Bethany away from the Templars.” He trails off, finally looking at her with a sad smile. He looks older like this, remembering. “But we were happy. Father and Carver always butted heads, and when he died Carver and I fought a lot, but he was a good kid. Had big ideas.” Hawke sighs and Tempest reaches down to pet his head comfortingly—she knows Carver died when they fled Lothering. “Bethany is so kind, I haven’t seen her since she joined The Grey Wardens…Maker I hope she’s okay.”

“If she’s half as strong as you, I know she’ll be fine.”

Hawke chuckles and grins up at her. “Bethy is tough, I think you’d like her.”

“What was your father like?”

The question stretches between them, a strange silence broken only by the clash of recruits training in the courtyard below.

“Good and kind and gentle. He told the best jokes, and always made sure we were safe. Mother used to say I looked like him, save for my hair. We all have her black hair.” He closes his eyes with a wistful smile. “I hope one day I’ll be as good of a man as him.”

“You are, Hawke.” She slips from the rampart and settles on the ground beside him as the sun finally dips below the mountains. “You’re brave and kind and you always seem to be looking out for others; if that doesn’t make you a good person, I’m not sure what it would take.”

He throws an arm around her shoulders and laughs bashfully. When he opens his mouth to speak a commotion breaks out in the courtyard. Someone rushes past the two of them, and nearly breaks down Cullen’s door.

“There’s an elf demanding to be let in, he’s already knocked out three guards. He seems furious,” the recruit pants, and he’s nearly bowled over as Cullen races past. The poor recruit takes a few more deep breaths and then races after the Commander.

“Ooh, someone’s in trouble,” Hawke laughs.

Tempest giggles and pulls herself up to peer over the edge of the ramparts. Down in the courtyard she can see the guards clustered around the front gate and Cullen pushing his way through. Varric, Bull, and Sera are all at the upper courtyard watching the commotion.

“HAWKE!” The shout echoes up the walls and beside her The Champion of Kirkwall freezes.

“Oh, it’s me. I’m in trouble.” Hawke jumps up and sets off at a run down to the courtyard, Tempest in hot pursuit.

Sera and Bull are still in the upper courtyard when the two heroes make it to the steps, bursting into laughter at Hawke’s face as they run past. Down in the courtyard two soldiers are being escorted to the medical tents and Varric is standing with Cullen, stepping aside to let Hawke through. Tempest stops beside the dwarf and gives him a questioning look. A fight breaks out before he can explain, the elf’s fist connecting Hawke’s jaw with a sickening crack. Hawke stumbles back and that’s enough to make Tempest step in, ducking under Cullen’s arm as he reaches out to stop her.

“Enough!” Her voice is commanding and powerful, and silence fills the courtyard. She holds herself up and stares down the elf. Fire builds between them, they’re close to blows, when Hawke’s hand rests on her shoulder. His lip is split, but he’s smiling, and she relaxes slightly. “I won’t allow you to assault my guests, so either calm down or leave.”

The elf straightens and finally looks away from Tempest, green eyes settling on Hawke.

“It’s okay. Tempest, this is Fenris, Fen, this is Inquisitor Trevelyan,” Hawke says.

“Still keeping company with mages, Hawke?” It’s almost gentle ribbing, lacking the bite of true anger.

“You know me, got a soft spot.” Hawke moves closer to Fenris, stopping in front of him. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you…”

Fenris scoffs and casts his eyes around the gathered audience, coming to rest on Tempest. She feels impaled by his stare, her heart stutters and she feels her body winding up to flee, but she holds her ground. For a long moment they stare each other down and she wonders if the elf is quicker on his feet than she is with frost, until a silent understanding is reached and they both relax. Fenris narrows his stance and lets his hands drop, stepping forward to rest his forehead on Hawke’s chest.

“I hate you,” he says, voice low.

“I love you too,” Hawke answers.

+++

“You’re here, you’re really here,” Hawke breathes, following his words with frantic kisses along Fenris’s neck and jaw. Fenris gasps and arches against Hawke, head falling back against the stone wall in Hawke’s room.

“You didn’t tell me where you were going,” Fenris growls, nails digging into his lover’s shoulders.

Hawke pulls away, tugging Fenris over to the edge of the bed, where he sits, pulling the elf between his legs and wrapping his arms around his slender waist. His hands wander over Fenris’ armour, unlatching buckles as slender fingers comb through his messy black hair.

“I…didn’t want you to get hurt,” Hawke mumbles against the elf’s stomach. He only gets a snort in response, Fenris shoving him back onto the bed and climbing into his lap.

“I can handle myself, Hawke,” he growls. “I can handle Venatori and demons and whatever else this world throws at us, I…” He trails off, hands coming to rest on Hawke’s chest. Slowly he leans forward, pressing his face to the Champion’s shoulder and whispers. “I can’t lose _you_ , Cillian.”

Hawke’s wandering hands still and his arms encircle Fenris, holding him tight. “I’m still here, Fen.”

“But you nearly weren’t!” Fenris sits up and smacks Hawke over the head. “I got Varric’s letter! Trying to sacrifice yourself like some fucking martyr. What would—” He chokes, and Hawke can see the wet shine in his eyes. “What would I do without you…”

The way his voice cracks breaks Hawke’s heart and he sits up, pulling Fenris against him and pressing his face into his white hair. They sit like that for a long moment, just holding each other in the dim light.

“I’m sorry, Fen. I just…it’s my fault Corypheus is back. I—I wasn’t thinking…”

Fenris manages a chuckle, pulling back and smiling sadly at Hawke. “You never do.”

“That’s what I’ve got you for.” Hawke falls back against the bed with a grin as Fenris tugs the last of his armour free before leaning in for a kiss.

“You’re a menace, Cillian.”

+++

Fenris is full of anger. Tempest watches him stalk around Skyhold and he starts two more fights before the next evening; one with Solas over something to do with magic that was mostly a very loud discussion, and one with Dorian that ended with Hawke hauling Fenris off bodily and Tempest dragging Dorian to the library by his arm.

She dumps the grumpy mage in his chair and stands before him with her hands on her hips.

“What, in Andraste’s name, was that?” She’s stage whispering, holding back the urge to cuff Dorian upside the head.

“Yes, thank you mother, I definitely need a scolding after nearly having my heart torn from my chest,” he gripes, smoothing his hair. She can see the shake in his hands, and she reaches out, taking them in her own and kneeling before him.

“Are you okay, Dorian?”

He stills but doesn’t look at her, doesn’t respond, eyes fixed on the windowsill beside him. Gently Tempest rests her head on the arm of the chair and waits, she’s a patient woman and he knows that, knows she can wait all day for him to actually open up to her. He breaks.

“I know him—knew him. My parents had _dinner_ with his…” Dorian lets out a hysterical sound. “I didn’t think anything of it. I was just a child—I didn’t know…” He finally looks down at her, conflicting emotions rolling through his grey eyes.

“Dorian…” She doesn’t know what to say. She can’t tell him it’s alright, that he wasn’t at fault, that Fenris was out of line. She can’t lie to him. It’s a slow realisation that he’s been working on and he’s still has a long way to go.

“Don’t. Please don’t, Tempest.” He slumps into the chair. Patience reigns when he speaks again. “When this is over…I’m going to go back. Help Mavaeris, make my homeland better than—better than the one that did that to him.”

Pride swells inside her, just knowing how much he believes in the cause and in change, she knows he’ll be a force for good even after Corypheus is gone. Tempest stands, giving Dorian’s hand one more squeeze.

“I’m going to go check on Hawke and Fenris. Make sure he hasn’t torn down my fortress.” She kisses the top of his head and heads down to the tavern.

The moment she enters Krem, Bull, Sera, and Varric all point upstairs.

On the second landing she can hear the heavy pacing the next floor up, and where Cole normally lurks, she finds Fenris stalking back and forth, and Hawke sitting on the stairs to the ramparts, watching him with a concerned frown. The elf spots her and bristles.

“I’m not here to defend him,” she says, and he finally stills, sitting on the step next to Hawke. “And I don’t want to pry. I just want to know if you’re okay…”

Fenris snorts. “Thought you were fighting the Venatori, not working with them.”

“Dorian is the one who tipped us off about the Venatori! He’s here to help us stop them, to stop Corypheus,” she says, trying not to raise her voice. She takes a breath. “I told you I wouldn’t allow you to hurt my friends. Please don’t make me ask you to leave…”

They lock eyes once more, another challenge. He’s very intimidating and a spark of fear claws at her insides, but she steps closer and sits beside Hawke, keeping the burly Champion between herself and the angry elf. Fenris sighs and Hawke wraps an arm around his shoulders.

“Hawke trusts you, as foolish as I think that is, so I will take your word for now.”

“Only a few more days, then we’ll head to Weisshaupt.” Hawke pulls Fenris close and kisses his head, and from her spot on the stairs she can see the elf’s ears go pink.

“Yes, because immersing ourselves amongst Grey Wardens after they all chose blood magic over death sounds much more relaxing,” Fenris snorts and Hawke chuckles.

Tempest smiles, the way they interact, she knows they’ve been through hell together and yet they still managed to hold onto each other; her heart clenches and she hopes she can do the same. Hawke mumbles something to Fenris and stands, nudging Tempest and giving her a friendly smile.

“I’ll be downstairs. Don’t kill each other,” he teases.

They both watch Hawke head down to the tavern and let the silence hang between them. When their eyes meet this time there’s no challenge, just worried teal meeting troubled green. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” she says quietly. Fenris doesn’t answer, only raising one eyebrow, so she continues. “He was hurting, and I think he missed you.”

“He’s a dope.” There’s a fond smile tugging at his lips and Tempest can hear it in his voice. “Thank you.”

“…what do you mean?”

“For not leaving him behind.”

It hurts to think about and Tempest winces visibly. Standing in the Fade with both Hawke and Stroud making their case, telling her they were willing to sacrifice themselves so that she could make it out.

“Does it make me a bad person to say it wasn’t as hard as it should’ve been?” Her voice wavers, cracks in the dam of emotions she holds back. “I couldn’t leave Hawke behind, it felt…wrong…” She jumps when Fenris puts a hand on her shoulder, understanding in his eyes. It only lasts a moment before he withdraws and stands.

“Still...thank you.” He runs a hand through his pale hair, and she grins up at him. Fenris scoffs, but it’s almost friendly. “Can’t believe the dwarf was right.”

“Varric? About what?”

“Your eyes.”

And with that he heads downstairs, leaving Tempest Trevelyan gaping after him.

+++

Everyone eats together in good spirits the next evening, Fenris and Dorian seated at opposite ends of the table, laughing and joking and enjoying the moment of peace. Fenris is incredibly adept at flustering Hawke which leaves most people in hysterics as the valiant Champion of Kirkwall is reduced to choking on his ale and hiding his head in his hands as his ears turn red. Tempest in turn tries to tease Cullen, but he gives as good as he gets, until everyone is in tears over The Inquisitor and her Commander both blushing and barely able to look at each other.

The night flows naturally into Wicked Grace and heavy drinking, though Cullen refuses to bet anything except money and he still ends up losing his cloak. Tempest wraps herself happily in the red fabric and fur, head resting on her lover’s shoulder as she watches the group, her own cards folded in front of her. By the end of the second game there’s an uneasy truce between Dorian and Fenris, mostly maintained by avoiding the topic of magic or Tevinter.

Slowly the group begins to trickle away, people breaking off into smaller groups, or heading to their rooms, till only five remain at the table. Varric and Hawke pull Cullen aside for a moment, and Tempest rests her hand on her chin, alcohol numbing her thoughts slightly as she presses a finger to the table and watches frost creep across the wood. Fenris pauses mid-stretch and watches her.

“Tempest, love.” Cullen speaks softly as he approaches her, and the ice recedes.

“Hm?” She reaches for him, tipsy smile on her lips and he lets her pull him down for a kiss. When he pulls away, she can’t help but giggle at the colour creeping onto his cheeks.

“We got a surprise for you, Stormy,” Varric chimes in, sharing a sly smile with Hawke.

Tempest lights up and sits up straight as Hawke sits beside her. Cullen settles on her other side and Varric sits with Fenris across from the table as Hawke slides some papers in front of her. For a long moment she looks between the four men and then takes the pages and starts to read.

The silence is tense, anxious and hopeful, as she reads the first document, the official notes on her adoption into the Trevelyan family.

“…the ward will be adopted by Bann and Lady Trevelyan, blah blah blah…” she mumbles as her eyes gloss over the page. She frowns at Varric who nods to Hawke. “Why did you go looking for this?”

“Keep reading, I promise I had a good reason,” Hawke assures her, smiling softly.

She returns to the page, comforted by Cullen’s hand on her back, and continues reading.

“The ward will remain at the circle at the behest of Ostwick Templars, House Trevelyan, and Catherine…Amell?” She’s read _Tales of the Champion;_ she knows Hawke is an Amell and she looks at him again. Their eyes meet and her heart clenches.

_Those are my eyes._

There’s hope in Hawke’s eyes, but he’s holding back, and she places the page down gingerly and she picks up the second page.

It’s an old letter, once sealed with wax and the Amell family crest. Her hands tremble as she unfolds it, and Cullen squeezes her shoulder. The writing is loopy and precise, slowly getting harder to read as she goes.

_I, Lady Catherine Amell, as acting guardian of Avalon Hawke, implore the Templars of Ostwick to make haste to my estate and collect my niece. She has just come into her powers and is already proving to be a danger to those around her. Avalon must be taken to the circle immediately._

_Regards,_

_Lady Catherine Amell_

It’s only when she feels wetness on her hands that she realises it’s her tears that are blurring her vision. She looks down as Hawke’s hand covers her wrist gently.

“I—I don’t understand. Avalon…Hawke?” Her eyes dart between the four men. Fenris has a small smile playing on his lips and Varric is enthralled in the scene playing out before him; Cullen offers her a gentle and encouraging look and Hawke’s eyes are as wet as hers.

“I had a sister, a twin, and when Bethany and Carver were born, we went to stay with Catherine for a while. Her magic manifested and she was taken away. I had no idea where she went, no one would tell us, and I thought she died during the rebellion. But I…I think—”

He doesn’t get to finish. Tempest stands suddenly, knocking her chair back as she vaults over the table and bolts form the tavern.

Hawkes face crumples and Fenris frowns as Cullen leaps up and jogs after the Inquisitor.

“She’s probably just in shock, Hawke.” Varric comes around and claps his friend on the shoulder, waving for some more ale. “Give her some time.”

“I’m going mad…maybe I’m wrong!” Hawke downs the entire ale the moment it’s placed in front of him and lets his head thump onto the table.

“Shut up, Hawke. You’re not wrong, she…” Fenris huffs. “She has the same eyes as you.”

“Spent so long gazing longingly into his eyes?” Varric teases.

“Even you said it, dwarf. Should I be jealous?”

Varrics laughs as the next ale is placed before Hawke. The human groans loudly and the door to the tavern slams open. Everyone still inside gawks at the Inquisitor, standing in the doorway heaving breaths like she’s run all the way from Haven, tears frozen to her cheeks and clutching something in her fist. She storms across the tavern, Cullen trailing behind her with a concerned frown, and places it before Hawke.

It’s only a little thing—no bigger than her palm—a metal broach, tarnished with blood and adorned with the Amell family crest. Hawke picks it up and then looks to Tempest who holds up her hand to show a thin pale scar on her palm.

“I remembered. I remembered a boy and Templars and the boy gave me that. It cut my hand…it was the only thing I brought with me to the Circle…” Her lip trembles, the dam inside her breaks and her hands fly to her face as she lets out a sob. Hawke jumps to his feet and pulls her into a crushing hug—letting the mage cry against his chest. They stand together for a long moment—just holding each other—and if Hawke starts crying as well, nobody mentions it.

“It really is you,” Hawke whispers against her fiery hair and Tempest gives a wet laugh in response. She pulls away and wipes at her face, smiling as fresh tears spill down her cheeks. A moment passes before Hawke lets out a laugh and sweeps her up into his arms again, spinning on the spot as she shrieks with laughter. “I can’t believe it’s really you!”

“I can’t believe I’m me,” Tempest laughs when Hawke finally sets her down. An arm curls around her shoulders and she startles, turning into Cullen’s embrace and grabbing his collar excitedly. “I’m a Hawke, Cullen!” She shakes him slightly and the Commander simply laughs and kisses her forehead.

“So, I take it you like your surprise, Stormy? Or should we call you Avalon now?” Varric grins, clearly cataloguing the interaction for future use.

“Heh, Avalon…” She tastes the word, testing how it rolls off her tongue. It feels strange, like it’s not truly hers and she frowns softly.

“I think Tempest suits you,” Hawke chuckles.

“I can’t believe you never told me you were a twin.” Fenris hasn’t gotten up, but there’s a fondness in his eyes as he watches the two heroes, twins, reconnect. Hawke just makes a dismissive noise and collapses into his chair.

The adrenaline ebbs from Tempest and she leans heavily on Cullen; even her bones feel tired suddenly.

“Tempest Hawke,” she says quietly. Varric chuckles and Hawke grins. In that moment she’s struck, she’s seen him smile like that before, but it’s different now, as her memories try to claw their way back to her. “You look like...”

“Like our father,” Hawke supplies. Tempest nods numbly. “Mother used to say that a lot. _‘You look just like your father, Cillian, but he had such red hair’_.”

Tempest reaches up to touch her own fiery locks. “Oh…”

Cullen carefully sets her into a seat and slips away, returning with an ale for each of the Hawkes. They both take the offered drink and down it in sync. Fenris chuckles and Tempest stares at him.

“I didn’t know you could do that.”

“Do what?”

“Laugh.”

Fenris grunts and glances away as Varric and Hawke laugh.

+++

Inquisitor Tempest Hawke lays awake that night, her mind racing as she reaches for faded memories.

“Tempest.” Cullen’s voice startles her and she sits bolt upright. “Love,” his voice is soft as his arms encircle her and gently tug her back into the pillows.

“Sorry, I was…thinking.” She sighs heavily, turning over and pressing her face to his chest.

“It’s a lot to take in, finding your family again…or them finding you.”

She hums and absently trails her fingers over Cullen’s collarbone. Together they lay in silence, just feeling the other breathe.

“It doesn’t change anything, not really,” she mumbles, following her words with a kiss to his neck.

“No, but knowing…”

“I was just a child…I wasn’t even her child and she sent me away. Stole me away from my family and no one ever told me who I was.”

Cullen runs his fingers through her hair, untangling a knot with careful precision; he never pulls, even by accident, and it’s clear to her that he grew up with sisters.

“And he’s still leaving,” she huffs, blowing her fringe from her eyes.

“Well yes.”

“He said he had ‘people’ in the Grey Wardens, that he needed to find.”

The Commander hums, low and thoughtful. “His sister I suspect, his other sister. Bethany joined the Wardens not long after I first met her and Hawke…” He trails off and Tempest pushes up onto her elbow, frowning at him.

“And?” She smiles and reaches out to brush her fingers over his cheek. “I know there’s more, Cullen, you’re an awful liar.”

Cullen sighs, taking her hand in his and kissing her palm.

“I suspect he’s looking for Anders too.”

“The apostate?”

“The one who blew up Kirkwall’s Chantry,” he says, acid on his tongue.

Tempest frowns and glances away. This isn’t something they’ve spoken about in great depth; she had worried his history with mages would affect his love for her, but they cross each bridge as they come to it. This is just a very big bridge.

“I don’t agree with his methods…” She begins carefully.

“But?”

“But the Circles needed to fall. There were good Circles, that worked as they should. Montsimmard, even Ostwick, worked as intended; Templars watching mages, not keeping them from their families. But others were awful. You were at Kinloch and The Gallows. I mean, Andraste’s ass, it was called _The Gallows_.”

“He blew up a Chantry, Tempest—”

“What he did was wrong, but I cannot fault him for it.” She pulls away, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed. The tension hangs between them and she runs a hand through her hair, wincing when it catches on a knot.

Strong hands cover hers and gently work the knot loose. Cullen brushes her hair over one shoulder and kisses the exposed skin in lieu of an apology. Tempest sighs and leans back into him.

“What happened to you was wrong,” he says quietly.

“It happened to a lot of mages, and worse.”

He’s silent, but she knows he understands. When she finally turns to look at him, she sees his history etched on his face and she reaches out to him, trying to smooth the frown from his brow and ease his worries even as her own bubble over.

“What if I’m not what he expects?” It’s barely a whisper, afraid to be spoken.

Cullen considers his words for a moment and then smiles at her, soft and loving. “I don’t think Hawke expects anything from you, except for you to know that you are part of his family and that means he cares for you.”

“…thank you, my love.”

“After everything you’ve given, sacrificed, for all of Thedas, you deserve something good.” Cullen presses a tender kiss to the corner of her mouth, and she can’t help but smile.

“I have you.”

+++

News of Tempest’s relation to The Champion of Kirkwall spreads before the sun rises the next day, and the two heroes spend Hawke’s last few days at Skyhold fending off questions that range from ‘mildly intrusive’ to ‘utter madness’.

“Hope the rumours don’t persist after I’m gone,” Hawke laughs, adjusting his gear. Beside him Fenris scuffs his feet on the floor and huffs as a Warden brushes past, loading things into a wagon.

“Oh, they will, especially if Varric has anything to say about it.”

“The dwarf has a lot to say about everything,” Fenris mutters, but he offers Tempest a small smile. They’ve come to an understanding over the last few days and, despite his prickly outside, she knows he has a good heart and cares deeply for Hawke.

“And I’ve told you, I’m prone to extravagant lies,” Varric says as he approaches.

“We know,” Hawke and Tempest say in unison. A few eyes land on them as the twins burst into laughter. Fenris rolls his eyes and Varric claps the elf on the back.

It takes most of the morning to load the Wardens up with everything they’ll need for their journey, though there’s talk they’ll head south west from Orlais, rather than following Hawke to Weisshaupt.

The sun has almost peaked and the newly reunited twins hug once more, though it’s more of a battle to see who can crush the other first. Hawke wins when he lifts Tempest off the ground and she squeals, fists beating against his back.

“Put me down, you great oaf!”

He laughs and sets her on the ground, yelping when she shocks him.

“Alright, knock it off you two,” Varric chuckles.

“If you don’t leave now, you won’t reach the lower camp before dark.” Cullen steps up beside Tempest and wraps an arm around her waist.

“You have to write! Fenris, make sure he writes,” Tempest says, hands on her hips.

The elf chuckles. “I’m sure he’s forgotten how, considering how little he’s written to anyone else.”

“I can still write, Fen! Maker’s breath, if I’d known you’d gang up on me I would never have introduced you.”

Tempest rushes forward and hugs her brother one more time.

“Thank you, Cillian. I hope you find Bethany.”

“I hope so too,” he mumbles into her hair.

“And Anders too,” she whispers, and she feels him squeeze her a little tighter.

“Hawke, I’m leaving without you,” Fenris shouts from the gate. Hawke lets out a protest and grabs his gear, pausing only to throw and arm around Cullen’s shoulders and force the Commander to escort him towards the gate.

“If you hurt her, I’ll get my whole gang back together to ruin your day, Commander.”

“I don’t doubt that for even a moment. Safe travels, Hawke.”

The Champion releases the ex-Templar and jogs to catch up with the elf, still waiting patiently beside the gate despite threats of leaving, and they follow after the caravan of Grey Wardens.

Tempest watches them go and frowns softly. “I hope they’re okay…”

“Who, Stormy?”

“Everyone. The Wardens, Hawke, Fenris, and I hope he finds Bethany and Anders.”

“Gonna take a lot more than everything that’s happened to kill a Hawke. You’re proof enough of that.”

“Yeah…I guess I am…”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Only semi-beta'd as my usual beta was indisposed.


End file.
